


How White My Shirts Can Be

by BewareTheIdes15



Category: Supernatural RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Assassins & Hitmen, Breathplay, Dubious Consent, Gunplay, Multi, Non-Graphic Violence, Rough Sex, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-26
Updated: 2012-02-26
Packaged: 2017-10-31 18:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/347290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BewareTheIdes15/pseuds/BewareTheIdes15
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"It went well?" Jared asks casually as he pours himself up a drink, that bored drawl that makes Jensen kind of want to put a hole through the wall. Jared may not be as dumb as he lets on, but he's every bit the aloof little shit he comes across as. It’s about fucking time somebody took him down a peg.</p>
            </blockquote>





	How White My Shirts Can Be

**Author's Note:**

> I blame my BF for this because he rewatched S1 of 24 and I developed a craving for some assassin!Misha. Jensen and Jared ending up involved was just invevitable, although I admit I didn't really plan on this turning out the way it did. Title from "Satisfaction" by The Rolling Stones

The click of the door latch feels too loud, Jensen's instincts still stuck on the job halfway across town just like the stink of burnt plaster burrowed into the threads of his jacket. It’s not too shabby considering, black hides a lot, but him and Misha are still probably the dirtiest things ever to take up space in this apartment. He kind of likes that, something illicit about the eight different directions Misha’s hair sticks up in, the few darker oil splotches from gasoline decorating the cuffs of his shirt playing against the sleek, pristine lines of the decor. Not even a speck of dust on top of the fancy black and white prints lining the walls.

Part of him balks at the idea of having a key to Jared's place - it's a lot of trust to put in someone and the kid barely knows him. Then again, Jared's put his life all but literally into their hands, so maybe it's not so surprising that he's casual about his space. Convenient, regardless. And maybe it'll teach the new boss a little something if he’s got to pay for that kind of trust a little. Kid thinks he owns the world and he's not too far off the mark on it, but he's still way softer than he ought to be under that candy shell.

He'll learn. That's what he has them for.

The look Misha slants him out of the corner of his eye has that gleam to it like his mouth's already watering and he knows Jensen’s is too as they climb the short set of steps up to Jared's living room. A night like tonight breeds the smooth kind of adrenaline high Jensen's spent too much of his life addicted to; cool, glassy sheen laid over frantic energy that's going to take some serious time to burn off. Or the right kind of workout. Tonight that's not going to be a problem.

Jared's at the window, back to them, cell propped lazily to his ear. He's murmuring a string of orders and thanks Jensen doesn't bother to pay much attention to; somebody who used to be somebody under Jared's daddy making all the right condolences, reporting in all the news. The kid does a decent enough job sounding like he gives a shit.

Way off in the distance Jensen can make out a tower of smoke, the first planted flag of Jared's personal empire. Figures that'd hold Jared's attention better than whatever he's hearing over the phone.

It's a damn fine plan, he'll give the kid that. Clever, probably years in the making. The biggest mistake Padalecki Sr. ever made was underestimating his boy. You can't raise a kid up to be a gangster, treat him like dirt and not start expecting him to make eyes at the big man’s chair. But from the look on the old man's face before Jensen pulled the trigger, there’s no doubt that Padalecki believed his little boy was every inch as dumb as the kid's played it all these years. If he was that stupid, he deserved what he got.

Not that Jensen really cares. At the end of the day, this works out good for him and his and that's what really matters by his account.

Misha slings him a grin over his shoulder as he circles around the funny little chintzy chair-things Jared's got scattered around the room like a leather-upholstered minefield. Why anybody that big would want such tiny shit to sit on is beyond Jensen but then he's never been an _Architectural Digest_ kind of guy. He finds himself a seat on the sofa, a soft, oversized number that's also ridiculously close to the ground but still pretty comfy despite having his kneecaps up around his ears. Not like he's planning on making too many sudden moves here anyway.

Jared hangs up with a terse goodbye, flinging the phone onto the steel-and-marble wet bar in the corner like it's burning him. Probably been on it for an hour now getting things squared away, but hey, them's the breaks when you suddenly become the leader of a criminal empire. The fight for the crown's not anywhere close to over, but nobody's going to be pulling anything else tonight. Got to at least let the old man's body get cold.

"It went well?" he asks casually as he pours himself up a drink, that bored drawl that makes Jensen kind of want to put a hole through the wall. Jared may not be as dumb as he lets on, but he's every bit the aloof little shit he comes across as. It’s about fucking time somebody took him down a peg.

"The whole point of hiring us is you don't got to ask," Jensen points out, kicking his heels up onto the coffee table just to watch Jared's mouth tighten. He doesn't bitch about it though, so points to him. He's going to have to get a lot less fussy if he expects to hold onto to his new job title.

His lips make a pretty pout around the rim of a crystal tumbler, painted wet with what Jensen would bet money is scotch - aged 20 years, just like his daddy - until he licks them clean. Underneath the hand-tailored dress shirt and pressed slacks he's skinny, bird bones and sharp joints where he hasn't quite aged into that whole filling out phase. The sort of coltish that no amount of working out can disguise. Nineteen and honey-sweet, playing so hard at being the tough guy it almost hurts to watch.

Misha really does have the best ideas.

And since it was his, Jensen settles back and lets him run the show, idly flipping the catch on the holster under his jacket just in case.

Jared almost manages not to startle when Misha sidles up behind him, hips pressed up against the pert curve of his ass. Almost but not quite. His eyes are just a little bit wider than can pass for a warning when he shoots Misha a glare, gets himself shoved up against the bar for his trouble. The flip from pissed to panicked and back is so fast Jensen wouldn't catch it if he didn't thrive on it so damn much, that moment when somebody goes all cornered animal and decides to scrap it out.

With anybody else besides him and Misha, it might just work - Jared's spent his whole life having everybody hop-to when he says so and there's really no substitute for that particular brand of haughty, do-what-the-fuck-I-tell-you-to - but it is him and Misha and they wouldn't be sitting in this damn room right now if they weren't a special kind of crazy. Jensen's more than ok with that. Crazy's a hell of a lot more fun.

"What the fuck do you think y-"

Jared doesn't get any further than that before Misha's got him by the hair, twisting and shuffling his feet just right to send the kid tumbling to the pale grey carpet. That's when he starts fighting it for real, squirming and bucking and kicking out like he doesn't remember what he fucking well pays Misha for. Misha's grinning like he's enjoying the ride so Jensen cools it and lets him play for a minute before he draws down.

The noise of the slide cocking back gets Jared’s attention pretty fast; spent enough time around guns to know the sound even if he’s probably never pulled on anything scarier than a paper target. Misha's got him sprawled out flat on the floor, all that silky, coiffed hair a messy fan around his pinked up face. Exertion or rug burn it's hard to say, but it's not too bad either way around. A black eye would be harder to explain tomorrow but Jensen doubts it's going to get that far.

"Calm down, Jay-jay. Everything's fine." He makes it a coo just because that seems to piss the kid off. There's something about seeing Misha hold down that big body like it’s nothing at all when Jared starts to thrash again that really turns Jensen's crank.

"Are you out of your mind?" Jared hisses, attention squarely on Jensen now like he hasn't got 160 pounds of solid muscle grinding him into his own designer rug. A lot of people make that mistake, thinking Jensen's the ringleader because Misha doesn't do much talking, or maybe because they figure Misha's a nut-job who does whatever Jensen says. Misha's never seemed to mind it. The less people focus on him, the less he has to pretend to be normal.

"Depends on who you ask," Jensen shrugs. He gives a little jerk of his head at Misha by way of friendly suggestion and then Jared's scrambling, can’t seem to decide whether it’s worse to crawl or to let himself get dragged until it's already too late and he's having a face-to-face with the mirror-shine of his coffee table right next to Jensen's feet.

"See here's the deal, sweetness." He lets the soles of his shoes hit to floor again to lean in and brush an errant strand of hair out of Jared's eyes with the muzzle of his gun. "We've got no problem with working for you, it's sure as fuck more entertaining than muscling people for your old man. You're smart and we think you can make this work if you keep your head out of your ass and don't make daddy's mistakes."

"We like you," Misha whispers, curling a broad lick around the shell of Jared's ear that sets him struggling again. At this point he's only hurting himself, Misha's got his arms bent up behind his back to hold him in place, but it makes a nice picture so Jensen doesn’t point that tidbit out.

"We do," he agrees, because hell, it's true. If nothing else, Jared's certainly been keeping it interesting. Interesting enough that if this goes south he and Misha are probably going to have to spend a couple of years hiding out in Europe. Still, if it pays out, this’ll definitely be worth the gamble. "But we put a lot on the line for you tonight and it got us thinking what a shame it would be if you forgot where your bread gets buttered. You get?"

There's a fug on the surface of the wood where Jared's breathing in short, choppy pants. Air bursts hot over Jensen's knuckles when he skims the barrel over Jared's cheekbone. Kid'd probably be hyperventilating right now if Misha wasn't practically squashing him into the table. He’s got this look in his eyes like nobody's ever laid a hand on the big boss' boy this way before, like he doesn’t really believe it’s happening now.

When Jared doesn't bother to say anything, maybe too occupied trying to figure how to bargain his way out of this or maybe just thinking they don't really mean it, Jensen decides he might need to be a little more explicit.

"What I'm saying," Jared's mouth clamps shut hard when Jensen drags the gun sight over his lips but Misha's thumb jabbed hard into the hinge of his jaw works him open enough again that Jensen can slide the muzzle inside, the quiet scrape of steel against Crest commercial teeth. "Is we're your guys. We do what you tell us to, when you tell us to and nobody will ever be as loyal if you do right by us. But at the end of the day, the whole iron fist thing your daddy had going doesn't really work for us. See, we're in it for the fun, sweetness, and we think it's about time we show you how we have fun."

He puts a little pressure on the butt of the gun for emphasis, feels the shake as Jared's tongue tries to work around it and just ends up pushing a little spit out onto the table to smear against the corner of his mouth. Jared's breath hitches, eyes pulling a fraction wider and Jensen's got to wonder if it's the taste - burnt powder, probably blowback too, that same mist of red staining the cuffs of Jensen's shirt and crusting at the bed of his nails. It'd be a little sick that Jensen kinda likes the idea of it going liquid again in Jared's saliva except Jensen's definition of a little sick got bent all out of shape years ago.

And Misha knows way too much about it - did more than a bit of that bending personally - because his eyes are locked on Jensen's when he plasters himself up against Jared's back and flirts his tongue at where the barrel swells Jared's lips out at odd angles, dips inside to flick at the ruler-flat tip of Jared's canine. Filthy fucking tease.

Jensen's voice is too husked up and tight when he says, "Now be a good boy and hold nice and still, ok?" letting his finger rest on the trigger for show. Blowing the head off of the star he just hitched his wagon to wouldn't be a real good idea, but Jared must be off-kilter enough by now not to feel like testing the limits when Misha lets go of his hands to start working Jared's pants off instead. Like he said, the kid's smart.

Humming-bird fast, Jared's pulse flutters at the starched collar of his shirt, tiny noises he probably doesn't realize he's making muffled out around the spit-shiny muzzle. Jensen pushes it in a little farther purely for his own amusement, edgy fear chasing something else through Jared's eyes when it gets back far enough to just tempt his gag reflex. Farther than Jensen would have thought. Maybe the little prince isn't quite as much of a blushing cock-virgin as they'd thought.

Misha groans when Jared's pants puddle around his knees on the floor, already palming the cheeks roughly apart to stare at his hole.

"Damn, do you wax or are you just this smooth?" Misha breathes, a ravenous tilt on it as Jensen watches him rub a thumb up and down the cleft, Jared's breath puffing fits and starts against his fingers in time. There's an airy click as Jared's throat works, attempting to swallow and not quite managing it but he doesn't try to answer.

Eyes glittering, Misha lowers his mouth down to the curve of Jared's ass, shuffs his lips across the skin dry before he sinks his teeth into the meat hard enough to make Jared grunt and his sweaty hands skid against the tabletop. A bit more pressure on the gun from Jensen and he stills again, fingertips curled bloodless-white against the wood like it's taking everything he's got. If he had his mouth free, Jensen's got no doubt he'd be spitting death threats.

"Hairless like a girl. Pink like one too." Misha dips down and runs his tongue up all the way from balls to tailbone. Jared's eyes slam closed, every muscle on him giving a jump but he doesn't try to get away. "You ever had anything up in you before?"

He doesn't bother waiting for whatever nonsense noise Jared might come up with before he does it again, homing in where it counts to mouth sloppy kisses. The sound it knocks out of Jared is more like a moan than anything. Jensen really can't blame him. Misha uses his mouth like a block of C4; absolute dedication to take his target apart.

Loves it too, is the thing that gets Jensen, could be just as happy eating somebody out as getting his dick in them. It's one of a couple dozen things about him that Jensen's gotten over expecting to get over. Still once of his favorites though. Fucking Misha's like living with something half tamed, never sure when it's going to turn feral out of the blue and rip your throat out in your sleep. If there's a better trip than being balls deep in that, Jensen hasn't found it yet.

For just a second, almost short enough that Jensen doesn't notice it occupied as he is by Misha working his tongue up Jared's ass, Jared's mouth pulls at the barrel, this gentle suckle that can't be anything but instinct with the way Jared looks when he catches himself at it. Right away he's back to fuming, pissy little furrow in the middle of his forehead like Jensen up and made him do it. His cheeks are splotchy like he's trying to blush through the flush already coloring him up.

Oh this is so much better than Jensen had hoped.

"You like that, don't you?" he breaths into Jared's ear, relishing the shockwave of it that shivers down Jared's spine. A hand shoved between Jared's legs under the table is all the answer he doesn't really need - long, thick cock hard as the steel Jensen's got Jared's mouth stuffed with, a little wet at the tip like he's been that way for a while. "Well whaddaya know?"

Misha's mouth is too busy to return the smirk Jensen sends him but he packs it into his eyes anyway like he's the one having all the fun. His hand slips down to tangle up with Jensen's for a second, wrapping around to give Jared one slow jack that makes him groan miserably before sliding back to cup his balls.

"Could have said so, Jay. We wouldn't have had to do this the hard way."

A quick flick of the callous on his thumb over Jared's slit has him twitching again, another unhappy sound eking out of his full mouth that doesn't match up with the fresh blurt of precome slicking Jensen's thumb.

"Or maybe you like it the hard way, huh?"

By the time Jensen drags himself away from the humiliated pleasure all over Jared's face, Misha's two fingers deep, wrist twisting in that way that always turns Jensen upside down. Misha laughs breathily, sparkling and eager, digs his teeth into Jared again hard enough there’s bound to be a mark later.

Testing out his theory, Jensen drags the gun back a little, matte-black gone shiny against Jared's rapidly darkening lips. Paints the stretched corner of Jared's lips wet with the thin fluid on his thumb before he pushes the barrel back in and says, "Suck."

Jared shivers again and gives Jensen a look that might have passed for a glare if his eyes weren't so glazed over. Doesn't mean much when Jensen fucks his mouth with the muzzle and Jared starts doing as he's told.

He can't really seal his lips with the way the barrel's shaped but it's just as well, Jensen likes the nasty slurps he loses around it anyway. Belatedly remembering to cover his teeth, Jared gets his tongue in on the game too, flickering at the dips and hollows like he's on his knees in a back alley somewhere for a wad of sweaty cash.

It nails Jensen so hard that for a minute he doesn't get it when Jared starts keening, rough vibrations tickling against his palm through the grip. Then Misha grunts, short and rough, his fingers tangling up in Jared's shirt to use it like a leash, pull Jared's hips all the way back flush against his.

And then Jensen hits the floor on his knees too because this he has got to see.

Leaving the gun shoved far enough into Jared's mouth that he ought to be choking doesn't get much of a reaction, but at this point he's probably stuffed so full of cock he can't breathe anyway. Misha was right about him being pink, baby pink going on red under the sheen of lube they lugged around with them all night for just this occasion.

An hour ago Jensen would have bet that Jared had never had anybody so much as look crossways at his hole. Two minutes ago he'd have laid money down that Jared knew just how to take it. Now he's reassessing how much experience he was tacking up on the kid's bedpost, starting to wonder if a blowjob's as far as he's ever let it go. Daddy probably wouldn't have liked his number one son having a taste for cock, but then again, daddy's not probably chilling out in the city morgue about now so his opinion doesn't count for much anymore.

The first thrust Misha gives him is slow, an appetizer. The rim's just a little puffy, swollen and pulled thin at the same time. It clings when Misha starts drawing back again, slow as a goddamn glacier, stretches out so pretty and hungry like it's just begging for Misha to stay in there. He pushes back in to the same rhythm, out and in again, really warming Jared up until Jensen’s having to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from saying something.

Instead he shoves a hand do the back of Misha’s pants where he hasn’t even bothered to slide them off his hips and palms his ass to urge him a little faster with a fingertip against his hole. Misha wriggles for it, eyelids heavy when just the tip slides in, lips curling up at the corner. For the hell of it, Jensen gives him another knuckle, dry drag that makes Misha hiss, scraping his teeth across his lips compulsively. His insides clutch hot around Jensen’s finger, mouthing at it roughly as Jensen pulls free. Misha huffs at him, pure promise on his face about what he expects later. Then he’s finally letting loose.

Jensen pulls the gun free when Misha's hips slap against Jared's ass on the next thrust, as much to hear the racket the kid's making as to keep from chipping one of his perfect teeth. And Jared doesn't disappoint in that department, moaning like a whore when Misha holds deep and churns his hips, muttering high, breathy curses when he drags back and does the whole thing again top to bottom.

Jared's hands are clamped around the edges of the table, just hanging on with his eyes shut tight as Misha gives it to him. His dick is leaking onto the carpet, a skin-flick version of the abstracts on the walls that's only going to get worse by the time they're done with him. The look on his face is fucking devastated, just flat out gone for a span of seconds when Misha finds the right angle and really pushes it.

Unsteadily, he paws at Jensen's hand, the one with the gun in it but Jensen doubts that's what he after. Still, since he seemed to like it well enough, and Jensen sure as shit likes it, he puts the muzzle up against Jared's temple for another hit of fake fear, that shaky rush of power that coils like hot silk around the base of Jensen's neglected cock.

He pops the button on his pants on autopilot, gaze stuttering between Jared's mouth and his ass, a flip-book picture show in his head as he debates whether he wants to take the kid up on the promise he put into all that tongue action or wait and let Misha get him worked open and tender first and then have his turn. Decisions' made for him when Jared bares his teeth on a snarl at Jensen lowering his zip, a threat they both know by now he doesn't really mean.

Cock finally released, Jensen uses his free hand to yank Jared's head back, snaps out a, "Bite me and this is going to get really unpleasant for you," before dragging Jared's head across the table to give mash his pretty face against Jensen's pubes.

Misha makes a noise about it, smirking like he's just as pleased about the turn of events as Jensen, and leans in over Jared's back to tongue-fuck Jensen's mouth, grinding in deep until all Jared can do is gasp against Jensen and lip at him distracted-like. The thick smell of smoke and sweat clings to Misha's skin, the faintest hint of blood mixed in there in a way that makes Jensen's balls draw up tight, conditioned reaction after this many years.

Gasping, Misha pulls back, starts fucking into Jared faster, sharp thrusts that ram Jared’s hips against the table with an audible slap.

It doesn't take a lot of prompting to get Jared settled down close enough to the table edge for Jensen to fuck his mouth, jaw gone slack on an endless groan for Jensen to use how he feels like. Every few strokes he goes deeper, hard enough to make Jared gag but he's not bothering to fight Jensen off, long fingers wrapped in Jensen's waistband to hold himself steady while Misha pounds away.

His mouth is fucked wet and dark, spit slicked all down his chin and over his cheek where it's rubbing against the table. He looks good. Feels better. Lots of wet, uncoordinated sucking, the inside of his cheeks and tongue maybe just a little bit hotter than usual from being rubbed raw by unforgiving metal. Jensen's always gone for getting someone in a mess on his dick and Jared fits the bill to a T with his pristine shirt all wrinkled up and that calm, cool exterior wiped right off of his face with precome and drool.

Because he can, because it's fucking hot, Jensen slides the gun through the sweat on Jared's throat and presses it tight to his Adam's apple. All instinct, Jared jerks back, doesn't get far with Jensen's other hand still twisted up in his hair. He gives up a wet cough, the sounds he's making around Jensen's dick going ragged with a hint of desperation.

Misha growls, flattening himself against Jared's back again to get his fingers into the mix, wrapped slim and deadly around Jared's throat. He's still fucking in, short and rhythmless, right there at the precipice of where he needs to be, hands so pale against Jared's skin as it gets redder with the lack of oxygen. He's muttering something under his breath Jensen can't make sense of, sounds like Russian which means he is seriously strung out on this and ratchets up the heat in Jensen's body by a couple dozen degrees.

Jared's eyelashes flutter, glittering where they've been watering, and the hazel just barely starts to roll over white when his whole body spasms, hand jerking Jensen forward by his pants, back arching him off the table. Jensen can hear the soft patter of come against the carpet, some of it catching the knee of his pants and soaking through, searing hot.

Misha's grip loosens instantly, teeth digging into Jared's back through his shirt as he snarls something that sounds vaguely complimentary through the cotton, pumping so deep Jensen's surprised Jared's not tasting come right now.

Will be soon, regardless.

Jensen lets the gun hit the floor, safety flipped like a reflex. Misha's got a switchblade if Jared suddenly decides to try something, but he seriously isn't gonna - if he really wanted to stop, he's had chances. Probably couldn't have pulled it off, but he could have tried anyway.

Another handful of punishing thrusts and heat explodes like a bomb deep in Jensen's gut, shrapnel slamming into him at a dozen different angles. Silvered red paints the inside of his eyelids, air in his lungs gone brittle, crackling as he tries to make them work around the rush drowning him.

Again Jared could try to get away but he doesn’t, swallowing each pulse down deep like he’s dying of thirst until the pleasure melts into juddery shocks then to out and out pain. Jensen rides it out for a couple of seconds longer before he finally pulls Jared off with a pop that’s a shotgun kick recoiling through his system.

Jensen slumps back against the couch, knees really up around his ears now with his body jammed into the space between the sofa and the coffee table. Right now he’s too sated to let it bug him. Misha flops down practically on top of him, lounging idly with his legs sprawled wide and his cock smearing wet and not yet soft against his open fly. Jensen wonders what he did with the condom, kinda doubts Jared will take it well if his maid finds it under a chair or something two days from now. On the other hand, Jared’s proven he can take all kinds of things well tonight, so maybe he’s not giving the kid enough credit.

“You two play some interesting games.” The roughness of Jared’s voice is a punch to the nuts, solid and hot and way too much after how hard Jensen just blew it. He’s still facedown on the table but that probably has more to do with being worn out than worried about doing what he’s told if that spark in his eye says anything.

“If you wanna make another regime change, now’s the time,” he says, one hand carding through Misha’s hair. Misha arches into it, always a cuddly little freak after he’s gotten his rocks off. Doesn’t stop him from flicking his knife open on the side away from Jared, just in case. If Jared had anybody waiting in the wings to snip the loose ends they’d have known about it way before now, but it never hurts to have a little leverage if they need to remind Jared what a bad idea it is to cross professionals.

Jared flinches ever so slightly as he peels himself off the mahogany finish, easing himself up slow and pulling his pants up even slower. Bound to be aching in a few fun places by now whether that really was his first time on the receiving end or not.

“Is it going to interfere with your productivity?” He makes a vague attempt at straightening his shirt out before gingerly settling himself down on one of the weird footstool-chair things. His hair is sticking to his face, livid mark on one cheek where it was grating against the table, lips that look like they ought to sizzle with the quick swipe of tongue he wets them with.

It’s a good look. Makes Misha tip his head back against Jensen’s chest and give him a ‘round 2?’ eyebrow. Always so fucking insatiable. As if Jensen’s ever going to say no to that.

“Hasn’t been a problem so far.”

There’s something about the weight of Jared’s eyes on him that he figures he could get used to fast. It’s encouragement he doesn’t really need to dip his fingers into the nest of hair around Misha’s cock and tug just enough to bring the blood still eddying there back to a simmer. Easy as that Misha twists around enough to bite the tendon of Jensen’s neck, rolling his hips up into Jensen’s hand even though the stutter of his breath says it still hurts more than it feels good. For Misha he’s not entirely sure it makes that much of a difference anyway.

“Good,” Jared says, probably going for clipped but if anything it comes out more worked over than before. His pupils are a fat black spread that doesn’t do much to cover the calculating look in his eye.

After a moment he nods, more to himself than to them and gives a nod toward the hallway, wincing only a little as he stands. “Master suite, third door on the right.”

Misha pulls back enough to grin up at Jensen, cocky and incredibly pleased. He blows cool air across the hot mark he just sucked onto Jensen’s neck, cold knife blade traipsing ticklishly-light across his knuckles like a dare. Jensen smirks back at him, pulling to get Misha up on his feet too and nudging him toward the hall.

“Whatever you say, boss-man.”


End file.
